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Saturday August 31, 2013 5:44 AM

He sat alone in a booth beside us.

The truth is, had he not approached our table, I probably wouldn’t have noticed him.

His eyes seemed tired, but a closer look revealed a gleam within.

“You have a neat family,” he said.

My husband and I exchanged glances, knowing that our brood — four children 6 and younger — draws
mixed reactions.

We spend most of our time in restaurants picking up dropped crayons, crackers, napkins and
silverware; wiping up spilled drinks; and hushing our kids so they don’t disturb customers around
us.

We crave corner tables, away from others, but this time we were in the open.

On a Tuesday night at Bob Evans, we had almost finished eating when the man stopped to talk.

We thanked him for the compliment, then — in case our kids had disturbed him — apologized. He
assured us that he’d enjoyed watching them.

He, too, has four children — all boys.

Through the years, he said, they had given him grandchildren, who had given him
great-grandchildren.

His smile grew when he told us that his wife would have liked our family — two boys and two
girls — as she had always wanted a girl. He encouraged us to enjoy this time, as children grow up
quickly.

I smiled and nodded while muttering something about agreeing with him. Yet I felt a little
guilty because I know I don’t always see things that way.

I’m a mom; it’s what God put me on Earth to be.

The job isn’t easy, though. I spend my days wiping sticky faces, dirty hands and poopy bottoms.
The work is hardly glamorous, and it certainly doesn’t pay the mortgage.

I have complained, cried and laughed my way through difficult times, often wondering whether
I'll again experience a day when I can go to the bathroom by myself or take a shower without little
hands and faces pressed against the glass.

Still, I’m called to do much more than take care of my children. I’m called to teach them about
life and to raise them to be aware of other people, not just themselves.

This man — this stranger — was about to make my teaching job a little easier.

He stopped in midsentence and looked down at our bill, resting facedown on the table.

“Let me take this from you,” he said. “I want to pay it.”

We immediately started to protest, but he brushed us off.

“No,” he insisted, “this is what I want to do for you.”

Then he slowly turned to make his way to the register.

I glanced at my husband, who had tears in his eyes — as did I.

I looked at two women sitting in a nearby booth, and one said, “Wow, there are still good people
in this world.”

Our 6-year-old asked what the man had done — a question that afforded us a perfect opportunity
to teach our children about the goodness of a stranger.

The man knew next to nothing about us but was moved to bless us.

I ran up to thank him again and to find out his name.

“Tom,” he said simply.

Tom, I learned, is 87. In my eyes, he’s an angel.

I asked him whether he needed any prayers.

He paused, then said, “Yes, my sister just lost her husband, and she’s having a rough time
handling it.”

I smiled, figuring he must be the type of person who naturally thinks of others.

We aren’t likely to see Tom again, and I doubt that he understands the full effect of his
gesture.

He doesn’t know, for example, that — with a dinner out considered a luxury for our family — we
had chosen Bob Evans that Tuesday because the kids, splitting two meals, would eat free.

Regardless, my husband and I will ensure that our children understand the lesson of his
generosity.